


In sickness and In Hell

by Felicity_The_Cat



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Angst, Brain Surgery, Drabble, F/M, Nightmares, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24225670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicity_The_Cat/pseuds/Felicity_The_Cat
Summary: Despite her best efforts to struggle against her binds and free herself, she simply couldn’t.“You’re sick, Beatrice.” her husband muttered irritably.“I’m not,” She protested with a kick of her feet and harsh jerk against the restraints keeping her pinned to the table.“You are,” her husband insisted as he crossed his arms. “And we’re going to make you better.”
Relationships: Butterscotch Horseman/Beatrice Horseman
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	In sickness and In Hell

**Author's Note:**

> A warm-up drabble. Kinda sloppy but oh well.

The table was cold; deathly cold. The gown she had on did very little to keep her warm, and even though they were inside, Beatrice felt as if she were left outside in the winter, exposed to the harsh elements, slowly freezing in the snow. In reality, she was being subjected to an even harsher force than winter’s cold hand. The woman trembled in fear as tears welled in her eyes. Was this what she needed? Would this truly help her? 

Beatrice knew that this wasn’t the answer, but she was powerless to stop it.

A familiar face loomed above her, looking both sorrowful and disappointed. The horse’s gaze made her shrink in on herself, and her husband narrowed his eyes as he let out a huff.

Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, but despite her best efforts to struggle against her binds and free herself, she simply couldn’t.

“You’re sick, Beatrice.” her husband muttered irritably. 

“I’m not,” She protested with a kick of her feet and harsh jerk against the restraints keeping her pinned to the table.

“You are,” her husband insisted as he crossed his arms. “And we’re going to make you better.”

Beatrice writhed and screamed, desperately trying to slip her hands out of the straps that prevented her from escaping. She didn’t want this; she wasn’t sick.

Even though she had lived her life just like her mother had told her to, she had somehow ended up in the exact same position that she had. Was it because she hadn’t loved enough, or had she loved too much? Beatrice knew she wasn’t sick; she was well, and she was sane.

The woman knew that this was wrong and that none of this was necessary. Her vision was beginning to blur as the presence of the doctor became known. A horrible ache made her cry out in pain, and she realized that this was only another one of her night terrors. Still, she was afraid, and it felt all too real. The woman continued to writhe and struggle on the table, screaming out as the man cut into her skin, exposing her skull without any issue despite her refusal to hold still.

Beatrice looked over to the man she had married, the man she had trusted, watching as his face contorted and changed, melting away as her dream faded.

She woke, drenched in sweat as tears streamed down her face. No matter how many times she had that nightmare, it still petrified her. Her mind was intact, and her fears were nothing more than torture restricted to her unconscious mind. The woman trembled in bed, scared half to death as she looked over at her still-sleeping husband. Her promise to her mother had been kept.

She didn’t love him, and she never would.


End file.
